L'Enfant Innocent
by CrystalSaffron
Summary: A little girl gives a small bit of peace to one lonely spirit. ErikPOV


A/N: This is my first Phantom fic, so please don't hesitate to correct anything that's un canonical. I haven't read the books yet (I have them on order) so I apologize if Erik seems kind of OOC as I only have the movie, the play and fanfiction to base him off of.

Summary: A little girl gives a small bit of peace to one lonely spirit. (Erik POV piece)

Disclaimer: I don't own Erik, the story of Phantom of the Opera or the Opera House. I only own the little girl and the mother. I'm only doing this for my own enjoyment and to pacify the raging plot bunnies that refuse to leave me alone.

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The doors creaked softly, but audibly, and Erik was alerted to a presence inside the building. Silently he strode down to where the sound originated and into the open theatre where he made out the forms of three men, a woman and a small child.

He watched them with interest as they walked around, examining the architecture and chatting aimlessly. He listened to their dribble for a while, but his attention started to wane after he achieved a general understanding of what they were talking about. Apparently, the man and the woman were interested in restoring the Opera House back to its original glory.

The first few times that interested prospectors had come in, Erik had hoped desperately that they could restore the magnificent building. But Erik had soon come to learn that people often deemed it 'too much work, too little benefit' and 'too expensive.' Added with the ridiculous amount of money that the contractors were always trying to get, _la'Opera_ seemed doomed to fall into disrepair.

Abandoning his interest with the buyers he turned to leave, but his eye soon caught a figure wandering around away from where the four adults were talking. Erik's eyes followed the little girl as she examined the paintings with intense concentration and interest. One could obviously see that the girl had come from wealth by the state of her clothing and her proper manners, but there was something about the girl that seemed vaguely familiar.

Erik observed the girl closely and was interested to note the intelligence that shown through her eyes. He saw her eyes wander to a particularly tragic painting of an angel crying over the fallen figure of a dead soldier. She seemed to be particularly drawn to this painting and studied it.

A wide range of emotions flicked across her face. Appreciation of the hard work that must have gone into painting it, awe of the picture itself and a slight fear of the violence that was shown around the fallen man. Yet, the most intriguing emotion that Erik could see was the deep sadness that painted her features. Erik could tell that she felt a deep, inert sadness for the loss of the life and the grief of the angel as she cried over the soldier. A single solitary tear slid down her face and a small sigh escaped her lips.

Erik was stunned. He couldn't believe the astute knowledge and the emotion that she displayed for someone so young. He could see that she understood the meaning behind the picture and connected with the artist. Which was particularly hard to do as Erik had painted the picture himself. It was meant to represent the frailty of human life and the carelessness of humans to destroy their own kind in the need to be superior. In a way, it represented Erik's twisted reality of what had been his life.

Had been. That was always hard to keep realizing. Erik de Becque's body, also known as the Phantom of the Opera, had been deceased for a long time yet his spirit still remained attached to the place that had shown him the most kindness and the most hatred in his life.

The world of today tried to make up words to rationalize his existence. Ghost. Spirit. Entity. Poltergeist. Phantom. He sneered at the last word. It had hardly fitted him alive; it still didn't serve his character now that he was dead. It was but among the many words trying to simplify a complicated existence. If you could call what he 'lived' an existence. He was eternally bound to the Opera, neither good enough for heaven or evil enough for hell; he had resigned himself to his fate. Every day, he seemed to fade more and more into memory. Some days he could move objects, others he would just end up repeating scenes from his life here, an eternal torment, worse then any hell could think up.

The tapping of shoes brought back his attention and he turned from where he was sitting in box number five to look behind him at where the person belonging to the footsteps would be. The curtain was pushed back to reveal the tiny form of the girl he had seen before.

For a moment, time stopped and curious innocence looked at faded genius. Erik knew it wasn't possible for her to see him, but for that brief span of time, he dared to hope that she had actually seen him. Yet her eyes slid past him and to the chair next to where he was sitting. She walked forward and hopped up onto the chair, settling in comfortably and staring at the stage as if it was suddenly going to spring alive in brilliant color with dancers, jesters and singers of long past. Yet the stage remained a faded brown with tattered curtains and the shattered chandelier, the essence that hinted at once grand plays and high society affairs with tinkling laughter and angelically sung ballads.

Instinctively he started to play with a small locket, the only object he seemed to hold these days. It had been a gift to Christine, after one of her many performances. At the time it was a small trinket but after the whole affair it was a brief piece of her that he could keep. On a thin gold chain was a small gold heart with a tiny diamond set in the front. It held nothing inside, save the engraving of her name. She had left it in his 'lair', if that's what you would call it, and once he had found it he had always carried it around with him.

Unconsciously, he started to sing softly, not realizing that the girl was still sitting next to him. When he had finished 'Masquerade' with a deep sense of sadness and regret he was surprised to hear a young voice speak.

"That was beautiful." Erik turned, startled, to the girl sitting next to him, who was now _staring_ at him. She peered up at him, innocence preventing fear. "Did you write it?"

At a loss for words, Erik could only stare at her, eyes wide in shock. She watched him expectantly but when she saw he wasn't capable of answering she continued. "Can you sing me another song?"

Erik hesitated a moment, after all, what did he owe this little girl? But, he found himself singing the song he had sang to Christine when he was down in the dungeons with her. The song slowly bringing him back to the time when there was another innocent girl, listening to him and watching him with expectant eyes. He finished softly and she clapped, apparently very pleased.

"Christine!" A voice called out and Erik jumped up in shock as the voice rang throughout the theatre. "Christine!" The voice called again, this time much closer.

The curtain opened for a second time that day and Erik saw a young woman standing there, her face worried and then calming at the sight of the young girl.

"Christine, I was worried sick! You shouldn't go off like that without telling me." She said, scooping the young girl into her arms.

"Sorry mama. There was…a picture I wanted to see." The young girl, Christine, said, glancing back at where Erik was.

"That's alright dear, just tell me next time." The mother said. "If you'd like, we can come back another time and you and I could look at the pictures together."

"I'd like that mama." Christine yawned, laying her head on her mother's shoulders as they walked out of Box five. Erik followed them down to where they had come in where her husband and the two contractors waited patiently. Christine's mother set her down gently on the stairs as she discussed briefly with the other three men.

Erik took this opportunity to slip something into the girl's hand before her mother picked her up again and they all left the building. Erik watched through the window as they walked down the street to wherever they had come from, always watching the little girl in her mother's arms. He saw her open her hand to reveal a small golden locket. She smiled at it and slipped it over her head before settling back down to rest, staring at the Opera House.

Erik didn't know why he gave her the locket, but in his being he finally had hope that maybe he could finally leave this place and his past, in peace.

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A/n: cool people review! 


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